The Journal of Todd Hewitt
by Kiyiamayu
Summary: When Todd had some spare time during his and Viola's journey, he would write his thoughts out in an old, tattered journal that Ben gave to him before he left. Inside, there were only three hastily made entries, the pages crumpled and torn. -Written during the events of the first book


**A/N: At school we were required to write journal entries for one character in the book that we chose. As you can see, I chose Todd Hewitt from this awesome book trilogy. This writing style seriously almost killed me though. It's actually rather difficult to purposely misspell things (who knew?) and hopefully, in the eyes of you readers, I managed to do it fairly well. Helpful criticism is welcome. Enjoy.  
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The Knife of Never Letting Go

Todd Hewitt's Journal

** Entry #1:** We've been running and running and running 'till we ain't got no more breath left since the army followed me an' Viola and attacked Farbranch. I'm wondering if Hildy and the people are alright, but I know it's a stupid thought and my Noise is goin' crazy but I just can't stop wonderin' whether or not we're the cause of the invayshun and if the people are dying, and then Manchee is injured while I'm out here writing in this l'il book I found in the old bag Ben gave me.

In a way, I feel... something. It's hard to describe... Like a burning pain in your chest that just won't go away, and it just keeps tightening 'till it feels as if you're _suffocating. _I can't find the word right now 'cause I'm so confused.

I ain't got no answers for all my askings I've been wonderin' for these past few days. It feels like I'm mad at myself, that I'm the cause of what's happenin' back there...I probably am.

Oh, now Viola is looking at me all disapprovin' like. She must've read my Noise. Seems like she doesn't agree with me. Well, I'm not sure if I even agree with myself. I can't think clearly with all of the stress floating over us like a big, ugly cloud.

I s'pose it was a nice break from our endless running, maybe I'll write again some more later on. It feels good to write all of these jumbling thoughts out on paper, even if it's rather difficult. I can barely even read my own language. I might do this again someday.

Maybe.

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** Entry #2:** I'm a coward. A real stupid-as-dirt coward. I had a chance to kill Prentiss Jr. And I didn't take it. He insulted us. He insulted me, an' Viola, an' Manchee - that ruddy good dog - and I just didn't have the guts to use the knife I've had for this whole journey.

Viola told me that it was good that I hadn't killed him. That I'm "not a killer." She was grateful to me, from when I saved her back at the swamp near Prentisstown. She said that the army wants to _make _me a killer and that if I let them do that, if I kill that man, then they would win.

But... but... he said that he killed Ben and Cillian, the people who truly acted like a real family should. He bragged right in front of my face when I had him pinned down. And... I didn't stab him! I feel worthless. A real waste of space. I want to prove to them, to everyone, that I _am_ a killer. That I'm _not_ a coward.

I keep thinking... If I was brave, maybe... maybe Ben and Cillian would still be alive, maybe if I'd killed Aaron back at that swamp he wouldn't have been able to tell Mayor Prentiss where we were.

We could've been _safe_.

All because I didn't have the guts to kill someone. And now I did it again.

But... Then I did kill something.

Some_one_.

A Spackle.

There ain't s'posed to be no more Spackle, I was told that they all died in the war. I was told that they all killed my Ma, spread the germ that caused the Noise in the first place.

But... I was lied to again.

At that moment, I had been consumed by burning anger, my Noise turning red. It...He... was terrified. Shaking. Fearful. I approached it and- and- the knife... I used the knife. I still have blood on my hands. _Red_ blood. It bled _red blood._ It's gone now. Wiped from my hands and clothes. But it's not. It's _not. _It' just ain't gone.

_It's still there. _

_...I'm sorry._

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** Entry #3:** Aaron took her. He took her! I feel horrible. Sick. Wrong. No, that ain't the word. It's much worse than that.

I feel as if I've done everything wrong and all of it's my fault (feeling that a lot these days) – Manchee's tail being cut off and all of his bruises and cuts, the deaths of all those people...Viola getting kidnapped. An' this time no one's here to scold me or give me Looks for thinking all of these negative thoughts.

I think I deserve it. But, no matter what, I can't just leave her with him. Who knows what he'll do to her? I can't think about it. She's gone, but not for long. I'm getting her back, no matter what injuries I have. 'Cuz...Her life is more important than my own.

I can't stop to write anymore. I've wasted enough time with this book. And Manchee is looking nervous, worried about Viola no doubt. Such a good dog, loyal to the very end. I hope (please, please, please,) that she'll be alright when we find her, that he hasn't done anything too horrible.

That I could, for once, do the _right_ thing.

No one needs to get hurt anymore. I want this to end.

Me, Viola an' Manchee will all get through this. We're not clear on our destination but we'll get there, without a doubt. Together. All three of us. Because, goshdarnit, I want to _believe. _I want to believe, so very desperately, in the very elusive hope that Ben told me about.

I _hope _that we'll get through this alive.

...please.

**. . .**


End file.
